Losing Watson
by Lauriarty
Summary: Written for a school assignment. Sherlock's POV in John leaving for Mary Morstan. MollyXSherlock, Johnlock, JohnXMary.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or anything.**

**Author's Note: This was done as an assignment but I'm going to upload it here anyway. Please note it's a mix of BBC!Sherlock and the canon, so it can be OOC if you just imagine it for one or the other.**

* * *

It is the last week of January when John Watson announces his plan to propose to Mary Morstan.

The ring is clean, new, and golden. It shines against the light, its diamond reflecting in such an inexplicable way that words could not possibly fathom. John had insisted to pay for the ring himself, completely ignoring my offer to help him.

"I want this to be special," He had explained.

"It won't be so special if you are unable to pay our rent after that purchase," I had reminded casually, not looking up from the morning's paper.

"Shut up." He had laughed, much too used to my attitude by now to become irritated or upset over it.

Now, as the ring is displayed in front of me, I can not help but realize that this could possibly be the thing that changes everything. It brings a distant, aching sink of my heart at the sight of the ring. The knowledge that after all these years and everything we had been through together... it is now being diminished into memories of the past that can so easily be forgotten. All for a girl.

"What do you think?" He asks. I look at him. He seems sure and serious about the entire thing, yet still slightly nervous. The last time he had been this way was when we had been directly behind Sebastian Moran, London's second most dangerous man next to James Moriarty.

I shake my head at the thought. It is nothing now; simply another memory of the past to be filed away into my Mind Palace.

He is still waiting patiently for my answer. Always patient. More so than the others - even Lestrade. One of the reasons he has been the best companion to accompany me during cases or simply in the flat.

"She'll say yes," I end up saying, looking down and bringing forth the same emotionless expression to make sure he does not read me. I hope he does not notice my hindering.

It turns out that he doesn't, as I had predicted. He nods and replaces the ring into his right pocket.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

I hesitate before asking, "When?"

He looks up. "When...? Will I propose, you mean?"

"Precisely."

"Oh. I suppose... in a week, or so. Why?"

"Nothing. I was simply curious."

"All right."

I watch him return to his room and I sit upon the couch, thinking.

So utterly stupid of me to think that this could have gone on forever. The crime scenes, the chasing - of course it had to end someday.

All the same, we are nothing alike, John Watson and me. My brain is an efficient sort of machine, organized of things important, with those things analyzed down to every distinct detail. I am also certain everyone believes I am incapable of feeling. Never would I have an erroneous deduction or thought. John, on the other hand, is... normal. Ordinary, and with the mind of a true army man. Always planning ahead and knowing how to be so careful around others. Allows his emotions to take control of him at times, just like everyone else. I wish for nothing but exciting cases to solve. He wished for the thrill of it all. That was why he agreed to stay as my flatmate and partner: He had hoped for a future of constant excitement to distract him from his past in the war.

Now he wishes for a future with Mary Morstan.

I do not hate Miss Morstan. How could I? I have absolutely no right to. Other than the fact that she is taking away my one and only accompaniment. But to my chagrin, she seems to be better at keeping Watson company than me.

Perhaps it is because she is so terribly sweet, candid, and amiable. Patient, too, like Watson. She does not complain when I ask for her lover's assistance in cases. For that, I tolerate her.

It could possibly be me alone. Me being selfish... wanting to keep John for myself. Me forgetting that in the end, he wants a real future. Why would anyone want to stay with me, after all?

With the same thoughts in mind, I drift into sleep.

* * *

The noises are irritating. The greetings and lights are all intolerable. In general, the wedding reception is tedious.

"Having fun?" Mary Morstan comes to stand beside me against the wall where I linger.

"Obviously."

She smirks and looks around until she catches sight of John on the other side of the room. He is speaking with her father, rapt.

"They seem to be getting along quite well."

"They are, actually," I say monotonously. "Your father believes John is the perfect match. He was not lying when he complimented him over dinner... the one where you first introduced John to him. He also appreciates John's kindness and favors him since he was in the army. He can relate. In fact, they are talking about that particular occupation now. Not exactly the experience, however. Just about John's opinions on certain subjects. If I am deducing accurately by the hand gestures, they are speaking about how different their work is now from their previous work."

"That will never get old," Mary smiles.

"What?"

"Your deductions," she says.

"I pride myself in them."

"It is evident."

John suddenly turns and catches sight of Mary and me. He shakes hands once more with Mr. Morstan before heading over to us.

Upon approaching, he gives Mary a warm smile. Then, he turns to me.

"If you're bored," he mutters after taking another sip of his drink, "Lestrade and Gregson called."

"I am aware."

"They say there's been a... robbery."

"Boring."

He laughs. "Typical."

The truth is I am staying for him. He does not seem too worried that we are slowly growing distant. Surprisingly, I am. The fact is not hidden.

As John waltzes Mary away onto the dance floor, I wait. It is not long until I truly lose Watson.

* * *

The flat seems more empty by now. Even though most of the things were my possessions anyway. The second bedroom is bare. There is absolutely nothing inside. Not anymore.

The door opens behind me and I hear the sliding of cardboard boxes being moved aside.

"Want to help?" John asks behind my back.

"No."

"Right." He walks in front of me, setting a rather small box on the table. I look at it, noting the top of the box bending slightly upwards due to the object's height inside.

"Why are you bringing that?" I ask.

John stares at me, confused for a moment before looking back at the box.

"Oh. Nothing - I just thought that Mary might like it."

"A Chinese cat must not be underrated."

He laughs as he heads over to the kitchen. I hear the clinking of glass and the opening and closing of the cabinets. I wonder if I will miss those sounds.

"Tea?" He calls.

"Sure."

Soon, he brings the tray and sets it beside the box. I do not reach for the tea. Instead, I continue to think.

"So," John interrupts my thoughts. "You are... fine with all this."

It is not exactly a question nor a statement. Most likely an unsure conclusion.

"Yes."

"Okay. Just... making sure."

I pause, not quite sure if this is the right time. Still, it is now or never.

"This is it, I suppose. Is it not?"

"What is?"

"After you move out. You are no longer going to see me. Correct?"

He seems conflicted now.

"Mary and I... well. We were planning on raising a child."

"Of course."

"So... yeah. I don't think I will have time to run around London chasing criminals, sorry. Not for a while."

I nod. "All right."

I do not tell him it hurts me. My one and only friend is to leave me so very soon. For once, I do not feel joy from being alone.

"I wish you luck in your future," I mutter.

"Thank you." He stares at me for a moment more, as if he knows there is something out of place by the way I speak to him.

"Goodbye," he whispers as he stands up and shrugs on his coat. This is not the last time he sees me, of course. Still, it will be for a while.  
I am glad we did not participate in some emotional talk with all the unnecessary drama. He probably knows that I prefer our parting to be this way - simple and short. It makes it easier to forget and to think less about.

In a matter of seconds, he does not look back when he goes out into the city of London once again. More than ready to begin a new life and a fresh beginning. Without me, of course; everything he needed from me is no longer needed for him. I realize this now, much to my chagrin. I watch him through the window until he disappears inside a cab that drives away to the right of the building.

"Goodbye, John," I whisper.

* * *

A couple of days later, I awaken on the sofa. The boxes that had stayed for so long are now gone, creating an empty sort of feeling in the flat. I walk slowly upstairs and see the second bedroom's door ajar. I close my eyes and sigh.

Dr. John H. Watson, my companion and my friend. Gone.

Crime scenes will never be the same. Ordinary days in the flat will not be the same. In all honesty, nothing will be even the slightest similar as it was before.

But all joyous moments end, people leave, and things never last forever. Especially not the kind of things that we used to take part in. And so I attempt to make my mind look forward - people must move on. That's what people do. Otherwise, no one will wait and you'll get left behind.  
As I am thinking, I hear soft knocks at the door. For a moment, I imagine it is John again. Then I remember that I must not think about him, for he is the past, and I must move forward.

I approach the door with great curiosity, realizing who it is as I touch the handle. Molly Hooper looks up at me.

"Hello," she greets. "I was just... I heard. About John."

"Yes, he moved out officially yesterday," I say, studying her. She just came from the morgue, most likely preparing to come here. Not in quite the hurry, but busy enough. Her constant movements display clearly her nervousness. Perhaps it is because of talking to me of this subject. She has always been the awkward type. Although right now, she is very cordial in her greeting.

"Is that all?" I ask, not meaning to be rude.

"No," she admits. "I wanted to call you."

I nod. She continues.

"I was just wondering if... you would like to look at this case." She pauses, as if catching herself saying something wrong. She looks up again after taking a breath.

"No, actually I wasn't. I was wondering if you would like to have coffee," she says.

The words take me back to a time long ago - to the very same day I met John Watson, introduced by Mike Stamford. Yes, that particular memory was and still is a fond one that I had not deleted yet. I paid barely any attention to Molly before, and now here she was. It's a sort of vice in which I ignore anyone who I think I do not need. Yet, she is always there. She is endeavoring to be of my assistance.

"All right," I finally say with a small smile. Usually, it's a fake one, one I'm sure she can tell is not true. But now it is as true as I can imagine it to be, for she reminds me of my previous companion. (Although that is not the only reason why I want to recompense her).

"Really?" Molly asks, surprised.

"Obviously."

At this word, she smiles and bites her bottom lip.

"Okay," She pauses. "Would you like to... right now?"

"That seems fine."

I follow her out of 221B. I know that even though I don't think I will see Watson again in a while, and even though I had lost him, everything has not ended. My life has not paused. In fact, it seems to be moving at an alarming rate. These thoughts alone are enough to dispel my previous doubtful ones.

There is one thing I am certain of now: The game is on once more.


End file.
